I believe I lay in bed that night with my eyes wide open, seeing, as if
in a waking dream, the whole of the eventful life I had pictured out for
myself--a glorious career of adventure in a land of imaginary beauties--
a land built up out of recollections of Robinson Crusoe's island, _Sir
Edward Seaward's narrative, The Conquest of Peru_, and _The Lives of the
Buccaneers_, with a little _Arabian Nights' Entertainments_ dashed in by
way of pickles or spice. All these formed themselves into a glowing
series of scenes--a sort of panorama of the future, and I lay and
watched in imagination the glorious prospect of river and forest,
mountain and plain, where I was going to win fame and fortune, in a
series of wonderful adventures, such as had never before fallen to the
lot of man.
You will not be surprised to hear that I got up the next morning
feverish and unrefreshed, and I felt quite envious of Tom when I saw him
holding his shortly-cropped bullet head under the spout of the pump in
the back yard, waggling the handle awkwardly as he had what he called "a
sloosh."
For he looked so hale and hearty and fresh, as he looked up on hearing
my step, and cried out to me--
"Lay hold o' the pump-handle, Mas'r Harry, and work it up and down a
bit, it's awkward to do all by yourself."
I felt quite spiteful as I took hold of the polished old handle and
worked at it, meaning to give Tom a regular ducking; and I sent the pure
cold well-water gushing out as he held his head under, letting the
stream come first upon his poll, then upon one ear, then upon the other,
and backing away at last to where he had hung his rough towel upon a
hook in the wall, to seize it and begin to scrub.
"Oh, I say, Mas'r Harry, it's 'evinly," he panted, as he rubbed away.
"Just you try it. Seems to make the strength go rattling through you
like. Have a go: I'll pump."
I hesitated for a moment, and then, feeling that the cold shock would
perhaps clear my heated brain, I threw off my cap and necktie, stripped
my jacket from my shoulders, and, rolling up my sleeves, thrust my head
under the spout, and the next moment was panting and gasping, and
feeling half drowned and confused, as Tom sent the water streaming out
with liberal hand.
"Now then, what Tom-fool's game's this?" said a voice, as I withdrew my
head and held out my hand for the towel; "washing the folly out of your
head, Harry?"
"No, father," I said quietly, as I rubbed away, feeling a refreshing
glow thrill through me as the reaction set in. "I was trying to freshen
myself up after lying awake all night thinking of my future."
"Then you are still harping on that project?" he said quickly.
"Yes, sir; I have quite made up my mind to go."
"What, and leave a quiet sensible business in search of a mare's nest?"
"Don't be angry with me, father," I said. "I know all about the
business, and what a struggle you have had for years just to get a bare
living."
"Well, boy, that's true," he said with a sigh.
"I know, too, how things are getting worse and worse, and that the large
London works and competition make the business poorer every year."
"They do, my lad, they do," he said more quietly. "But I had hoped that
you would grow into a clever industrious man, and set the poor old
business on its legs again."
"I'd try and be clever, father," I replied, "and I know I could be
industrious, but my two arms would be of no use to contend against
machinery and steam."
He shook his head.
"I've thought about it for long enough now, father," I said; "and I can
see well enough that there's no chance of improving our little business
without capital, and that if that is not to be had it must get smaller
and smaller every day."
"Why, Harry, my boy," he said, as we strolled down now into our bit of
garden, "I didn't think you could see so far into a millstone as that."
"Oh, father!" I cried warmly, "do you think I have never felt miserable
and discouraged to see what a fight it has been with you to make up your
payments month after month?"
"I never thought you gave a bit of heed to it, my lad," he said warmly,
as he held out his hand, and took mine in a hearty grip. "I've
misjudged you, my boy; I've misjudged you. I didn't think you had so
much thought."
"Oh, father!" I cried, "why, all my wandering thoughts have had the aim
of getting on in life, and for a long time past it has seemed to me that
England's growing too full of people fighting against one another for a
living; and I felt that some of us must go out and try afresh in another
place."
"Like the bees do, when they swarm, my lad," said my father, looking
down at one of the old straw hives, with its pan turned over the top to
keep off the rain. "Well, perhaps you're right, Harry--perhaps you are
right. I won't fight against it, my boy. I only wish you luck."
"Father!" I cried, and I was about to say something else, but it would
not come, try how I would; and I stood there holding by his hand in the
garden, while he looked me in the face with a calmer, more gentle look
than I had seen in his eyes for some time past.
He was the first to break the silence, and then he clapped me on the
shoulder in a hearty, friendly way.
"There's mother making signs that breakfast's ready, my boy. Come along
in."
We went in and took our places at the table so quietly that my mother's
hands began to tremble so much that she could hardly pour out the tea.
"What have you been doing, Harry, to make father so cross?" she said at
last.
"Nay, nay, mother, nothing at all," said my father quickly. "It's all
right. Harry and I have been coming to a bit of an understanding--
that's all. We haven't been quarrelling a bit."
"Are you sure, dear?" said my mother dubiously.
"Sure? ay!" cried my father. "Why, Harry and I were never better
friends."
"Indeed, no," I cried excitedly.
"You are both keeping something back from me," she cried, with her hands
trembling and the tears coming into her eyes.
"Oh, no, we won't keep anything back from you, mother," said my father
kindly. "Harry and I have been talking about his plans."
"Not for going away?" said my mother; "don't say that."
"But I must say it," said my father. "Harry is quite right. I didn't
like it at first; but, as he says, there are too many of us here, and he
is going to seek his fortune in a foreign land."
"Oh, my boy, my boy!" she cried.
"Same as your brother Reuben did," said my father. "Come, come, old
lady, courage! We must look this sort of thing in the face."
"And I'll go out there, mother and see if Uncle Reuben will help me. If
he can't, I'll try for myself, for I will get on; and some day, if I
don't come back a rich man, I'll come back with a sufficiency to make
the old age of both you and my father comfortable. Trust me, I will."
For some few minutes there was very little breakfast eaten; but at last
my father roused us up, talking quite cheerfully, and evidently trying
to reconcile my mother to my going, and then we went on with the meal.
"So Tom wants to go with you, does he?" said my father. "Well, he's a
good, hard-headed sort of fellow, and likes you, Harry. He'd better
go."
"But isn't he likely to lead poor Harry into mischief?" said my mother.
"No; he's more likely to act as ballast and keep him from capsizing if
he carries too much sail. Tom's all right."
My mother accepted the inevitable in a very short time, and soon began
to talk as mothers do--that is to say, homely mothers--for almost as
soon as she had wiped her eyes she exclaimed--
"Why, Harry, my dear, you must have at least six new shirts."
"Must I, mother?" I said smiling.
"Yes, my son, and of the best and strongest stuff. I'm glad to say that
I've just finished a couple of pairs of strongly-knitted stockings."
And from that hour, I believe, my mother was happy in her task of
getting ready my sea-chest, putting in no end of pleasant little
surprises for me, to be ready when I was in the far-off land.
Tom, too, was not forgotten, poor fellow, for he had no one to take
tender notice of him.
"And it don't matter a bit, Mas'r Harry," he cried cheerily, "I don't
want a lot o' things. One clean shirt and a pocket-comb--that's about
all a chap like me wants."
But he was better provided than that, and at last, before a couple of
months had passed away, our farewells were said and we started for
Liverpool, in low spirits with our partings, but full of hope and eager
ambition, since at the great western port we were to take our passage in
one of the great steamers for the West Indies, where we would have to
change into a smaller trading vessel which would take us on to Caracas.
"No soap-boiling out there, Mas'r Harry," cried Tom cheerily; and he
gave a long sniff as if to get some of the familiar old smell into his
nose.
"No, Tom," I replied quietly. "We are going to begin a new life now;"
for the future looked to me a far more serious affair than I had
imagined before in the midst of my sanguine aspirations and rather wild
and dreamy ideas.